


heaven created a miracle

by wanderingwhaler



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, God Ships It, M/M, Marcus deserves God's love, Masturbation, Mentions of Rape, Post Season 2, Psychic Visions, Soft Exorcist Boys, Voyeurism, by a demon to taunt Marcus but no rape depicted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingwhaler/pseuds/wanderingwhaler
Summary: Twenty one days after leaving Tomas, Marcus begins to have his own visions.
Relationships: Marcus Keane/Tomas Ortega
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	heaven created a miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are. There might be a second chapter in the distant future when I figure out how to write sex but in the meantime, have this fic which has been haunting me for AGES.

It has been twenty one days since Marcus left Tomas. Twenty one days to drive as far as he can, to drown himself in doubt and questions. Twenty one days to remember the look on Tomas’ face and to imagine Tomas’ voice. Marcus won’t say that the twenty second day will be any different but there is nothing else to do. He knows he has to keep moving further away until the aching pulls tight enough to snap and leave a wound that can heal.

By another motel bed after another cold motel shower and with prints of the damp motel rug forming on his knees, Marcus prays for forgiveness. 

***

Marcus awakes, standing in his old room in St. Aquinos. Looking out of a half shuttered window with his boxy cassette tape playing in front of him. This is where he met Tomas.

_a miracle_

_heaven created a miracle_

_and sent me down an angel like you_

_when we met i knew it right from the start_

_you were meant for me and we’d never part_

This is where God sent Tomas to find him.

Marcus turns and sees Tomas hover by the open door. He watches Tomas stepping slowly forward, wary, until reaching the doorway, pausing before crossing the threshold. Words are caught in his throat but Marcus takes a step forward. Even if it is a dream, he wants to speak with Tomas, wants to hug him, and say all the things he couldn’t when awake.

“Father Marcus?”

_it was a miracle_

_a miracle_

“Tomas,” Marcus starts. “Tomas, I’m sorry.” And suddenly it’s as if a rift formed through the world and pried the space he was standing in into two layers and he watched, aware beyond consciousness, as the cassette stopped in one as another him flared into place. He heard the harsh, “What do you want?”, of the other Marcus before the layer slid away into nothing. Marcus was left in a hazy place where Tomas stayed sharp while all the edges in the room bled together.

“My name is Tomas Ortega,” Tomas faltered, staring through Marcus. “Father Tomas from St. Anthony’s. It’s in Chicago.”

_I never believed in miracles_

_But now I do because of you_

“Tomas. Tomas, please,” Marcus steps forward, thinking that Tomas was _right there_. He was right there and he could explain. He could say he was sorry but it had to be like this. Tomas steps forward into the room and Marcus’ heart jumps in his chest before he sees Tomas’ eyes moving towards his right. Following a him that wasn’t there.

_YOU DESCENDED THROUGH THOSE HEAVENLY DOORS_

“What do you know of demonic possession?” Marcus could see the words forming on Tomas’ lips but couldn’t make out the sound any longer. The volume of the song kept increasing. “I was told you were an exorcist.”

_I WAS BLESSED TO FIND A LOVE SUCH AS YOURS_

He felt pinned by the sound. All around him, the pressure of it crushing him like a can at the bottom of the ocean. The crashing of it all until it was no longer a song at all yet it kept rising and rising until the only thing he

IT WAS A MIRACLE

could compare it to was the voice of God

A MIRACLE

resonating with his soul until he was about to shatter

HEAVEN CREATED A MIRACLE

he was gone into nothing but everything, everywhere but nonexistent he was

AND SENT YOU DOWN INTO MY ARMS

Silence.

Left alone, shaking, in a vacuum of white light and the memory of a burn, Marcus heard Tomas ask, “Does it matter?”

***

Marcus wakes up to his empty hotel room. He wants to call Tomas. He wants desperately. The dream leaves him feeling shaky and older than he's felt in a very long time, which means something to him since he feels pretty damned old already on a good day.

Tomas would have the right words for this. Or be a comforting presence. He'd at least be a sound to focus on, the soft whistles of air leaving his mouth as he sleeps. Tomas may not be with him but Marcus thinks that God might be listening.

"Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me. Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit." Marcus hauled himself out of bed. He might as well hit the road, after all, he knew better than to expect an answer.

***

It's been twenty eight days since he left Tomas.

He hadn't been looking for a possession but he had found one anyway. It often happened that way, in his experience. At least now he knew God was still paying attention to his professional life even if not his personal one.

This particular possession was of a young man who had previously worked at the local truck stop. When Marcus had dipped in to grab a bag of sour gummy worms and an obscene amount of coffee to substitute an actual meal, he had overheard the workers talking about their friends sudden trip into madness. It was a matter of hours before he had talked his way into the boy's house, confirmed his suspicions, and got to work.

The demon inside of Nathan had wasted no time in going for the metaphorical throat.

"I bet your pretty little priest has already died. He probably invited the first one in without dear daddy Marcus getting in the way."

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not lay a hold of it. There came upon a scene a man, a messenger from God, whose name was John..." Marcus checked the straps around Nathans limbs while reciting rites. His attention was divided as he tried to ignore the pointed jabs being spit out of Nathan's putrid mouth.

"Poor Tomas was so alone without you. So lonely he was ready to take a demon for company. Do you think he cried before or after he realized he wasn't fucking you but some demon instead? Did he cry because he thought you were raping him or did he cry when he realized you'd left him behind to get fucked by a demon?"

"He came into His home, and His own people did not welcome Him. But to as many as welcomed Him He gave the power to become children of God." His hands were shaking.

"His blood is on your hands Marcus. You killed for him and you left him because you're a coward. A spineless, filthy coward," Marcus stood up from his chair, "who dragged him into this world before leaving him to the mercy of Us." He walked to the door. "You should have shot him, Marcus. You would have killed him just the same but he'd have suffered less."

And he left the room.

He didn't make it very far, just to the opposite side of the hallway, with his back against the wall, facing the door concealing him from Nathan, from the demon. Exhaustion seeped from his bones through his flesh. How much longer could he do this? He bore so much guilt. How can he bring that into a room with an entity that can hone in on any weakness?

Marcus would close his eyes for a second. Only long enough to think of a new plan.

***

Mouse and Tomas are in front of him reading scripture to a young woman tied to a wooden bed frame. The room smells like vomit and sulfur and the air resonates with the words echoing between the two exorcists.

"May the blessing of almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit," starts Mouse.

"Come upon you and remain with you forever," ends Tomas.

"I'll kill this girl once I've had enough of you two cocksuckers," the demon yells over both of them before switching tactics. Hysterical screaming explode from the girl. "Please, please help me, please he's going to kill me! It hurts oh God please!"

"Who gave to your holy apostles the power to tramp underfoot serpents and scorpions."

"Who along with other mandates to work miracles was pleased to grant the authority to say: depart, you devils."

And back again, "You think you can move me Father Tomas? You ruin everything you touch and this girl is going to be another casualty to your incompetence. You ruined your own life and the life of everyone you meet. You even drove away the one person who had a connection to God, the golden Father Marcus, because he saw you, beyond love and saving, and fled in disgust."

At the mention of Marcus, Thomas had stopped speaking, leaving Mouse to continue on her own. Watching Tomas falter and step back, pierced Marcus in the chest. For Tomas to even consider that Marcus left because of Tomas and not because of Marcus' own failings seemed abominable.

Abruptly, Marcus was furious. Furious with the demon. Furious with himself. He wasn't fit for Tomas and if he wasn't then this piece of shit demon didn't deserve an iota of Tomas' attention. If Marcus was going to be witness to this unholy thing, he would not do so silently.

Stepping forward, Marcus began to roar, "I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every spectre from hell, and all your fell companions!" He stepped around Mouse, unable to hear her voice over the rush of his own blood, and knelt by the girl.

The moment he put his hand on her forehead, her eyes snapped to his. She saw him. _It_ saw him. "Why do you stand and resist, knowing as you must that Christ the Lord brings your plans to nothing?"

It began to shriek again, knocked out of the shock of seeing The Marcus Keane appear from nowhere. "You cannot! You cannot! You aren't here! Get - " Marcus slipped his hand to her cheek and leaned closer, like a lover, breathing the air he couldn't possibly be breathing back into her gasping mouth. He closed his eyes, thought of Tomas, and reached for God.

"I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. May God give you pardon and peace for you are loved." The warm face he was loosely holding pressed firmly against his hand. Opening his eyes, Marcus saw the girl had gone limp. Her eyes were clear and full of relief.

***

Opening his eyes once again, Marcus was back in the room of his own exorcism. He was kneeling in front of a sleeping Nathan. The demon was gone.

Marcus began to remove the restraints and wipe Nathan's face and arms free of bile and blood. He had left possession victims in worse conditions but he was moved by the urge to keep his own body busy while reconciling what had just happened.

Nathan had been exorcised while Marcus was asleep. Marcus had no recollection of returning to the room. It was almost funny. He had joked enough over the years, before Mexico City, that by now he could perform an exorcism in his sleep. It seems like he now has actual proof to that claim.

That had to be it. He had a dream, sleepwalked, and casted out the demon in Nathan. The alternatives were too troubling for him to want to consider. But they were shouting at him so loudly, clamoring for attention, he knew it would be a wasted effort to try and ignore them indefinitely.

Had he had a vision of the past like Tomas had of Marcus in Mexico City? Tomas had never said anyone or demon had noticed him though. And that girl had noticed Marcus. Did that make it a dream? Or did that mean by some coincidence that the trio were performing exorcisms at the same time and he had actually been in that room?

He wants to call Tomas. But nowadays he is always wanting to call Tomas and hear his voice and know he is okay. Instead, he packs his bags and makes his way out - out of the room, out of the house, out of this town.

***

On the thirty fifth day after leaving Tomas, Marcus closes his eyes on a park bench. Even when his eyes are closed he sees blood. It seems everything in his life is bloody. The wounds of the possessed, his own injuries, his heartache. The sun shining through his own capillaries illuminate his very being - until it all goes dark. He opens his eyes to Tomas, sitting across a stained table in a darkened hotel room. Strips of dusty white light break through the edges of the heavy curtains.

In front of Tomas is a pen and a blank pad of paper with 'Overnite Lodge' printed as the header. A scattered array of folded papers lay on Marcus' side of the table. He can make out impressions of varying logos and motel names - none of them look the same. The only things uniting them are their current location and Marcus' name scrawled across the front.

Tomas has been writing him notes. Tomas has been writing him letters. Tomas has been sitting alone in motel rooms and writing letters to the man who betrayed him.

When Marcus reaches for the letters, his hands are stayed a hairsbreadth away from contact. He pushes harder.

_You cannot change what is happening now_. A force as gentle as a ripple and as terrible as a tsunami moves through his soul.

_Oh_ , thinks Marcus, _this is real. God has given me sight of him._

Suddenly he, intensely, breathlessly, wants Tomas to pick up the pen and start writing. He needs to know what words Tomas will choose, what message he wants so badly to give to Marcus he writes it in letters that will never be received. These letters are prayers to Marcus and Marcus desperately wants to hear them.

"Tomas, write to me," Marcus says softly. He doesn't expect Tomas to hear him.

So Tomas looking up from his hunch over the paper startles him. Tomas' eyes are fixed on the letters (prayers) already written. He looks tired and thinner than when Marcus left. But he still looks beautiful so Marcus drinks him in, trying to notice any other changes that would tell him about Tomas' life this past month.

To Marcus' absolute horror, Tomas' eyes fill with tears.

"No, no no no, Tomas, please don't," he entreats, reaching out on instinct to cover Tomas' hand with his own but is pushed away hard when Tomas reaches across the table - for a second, Marcus' heart stops ( _he sees me?_ ) - to gather up the scattered letters.

Tomas starts ripping.

"Tomas, please, stop. I'm so sorry; I want to read them. Please keep them." Marcus is sending his own prayers to Tomas, through a vision instead of paper but it's just as hopeless.

Hitching breathy sounds start filling the room and Tomas, apparently nowhere near the end of his anger and suffering, yells out a short, harsh sound. He slams his hands into the table and levers himself up. He steps away to grab the small metal trashcan from the bathroom. Marcus stands himself; he presses his hands into the air above the shreds of paper. He wants to protect them.

But he is again pushed away when Tomas sweeps the wreckage into the trashcan and heads outside. The door slams shut behind him.

Marcus blinks and he is standing outside, helpless to do anything as Tomas takes a match and sets the letters ablaze.

***

On the park bench, alone and imagining the smell of smoke, Marcus feels sick. He _knows_ what the letters to and from Jessica meant to Tomas. Tomas had treasured them; he had kept them even when they tested his faith because Tomas needed something solid to hold on to.

Jessica's letters inevitably caused Tomas pain but Tomas bore it because he was a being of love. He loved Jessica and thought the pain was worth it. He burned the letters to Marcus.

Marcus wasn't worth the pain. And now he'll never know what words Tomas weaved together for him, just for him. Those were thoughts, wishes, accusations from Tomas that he'd never get to bear witness to.

The sun is still shining bright in the sky and when Marcus closes his eyes against his tears, he welcomes back the bloody red.

***

Forty days after running away from Tomas, Marcus' only plans are to drive his rickety truck, less than ethically obtained via a poker game, through the back county of whichever midwestern state he happens to be in until either he or the truck falls apart. He had been almost mindless; the road was straight, flat, and empty. He vaguely wondered how the road would have appeared had Tomas been sitting next to him. Marcus let the thought drift away.

He was at the closest approximation to peace he felt these days when _\- STOP THE TRUCK_

He slammed on the brakes and turned the truck off the road. This was an Order. He had to Obey; he had to stop the truck, right now.

The instant the truck was no longer moving, Marcus threw the truck into park and he was gone.

***

Marcus is standing in a public shower - the kind that you'd find at camping grounds, judging by the tangled mess of spiders and leaves in the crevices of the space and the mold growing along the edges of the showers. Directly in front of him, one of the showers is running. He can't see through the opaque cloth curtain but he knows who it must be. What else would bring him to this place.

"Not that I don't appreciate your attention but this felt rather urgent when you sent me here. Is he in danger?" he asks God.

He knew that any answer would be in the form of a devastating force of joy and fear ripping through his body but he felt himself straining his ears anyway from the lifetime habit of being human and wanting things that were bad for him.

Instead of God, he hears Tomas' hitching breaths behind the curtain.

"No, no, you can't have brought me hear to listen to him cry again! I can't take it, God, please."

God stays silent and Marcus wants to wake up. Instead, he leans against the curtain, it won't let him fall, he can't touch it and it pushes him away with some divine force, and he listens. He can consider it atonement.

Soft breaths, obviously being stifled by a hand to the mouth, and slick sounds of water and skin drift to Marcus through the opaque fabric. A suspicious slick sound.

_A bloody rhythmic sound. Tomas isn't crying. He's fucking jerking off._

"God! You can't count this as a sin against me - you're making me the voyeur here." Marcus stands to move as far away from the shower as he can to give Tomas some privacy. And he makes it about six centimeters before he hears Tomas huff his name into his own knuckles.

Marcus feels _weak._ His knees are going to go out on him; probably because all the pressure from his knee joints went into his prick. He was vaguely embarrassed about catching Tomas masturbating to Jessica or a faceless female form. He was devastated to catch Tomas pleasuring himself to thoughts of _him_.

Marcus crashes back against the shower curtain desperate to see. He wants to see Tomas. He wants to receive Tomas like communion. He'd kneel before him and accept anything that Tomas felt fit to give. What was right to give. What he thought Marcus deserved.

Tomas cries out, "Marcus, please," before cutting off with a gasp. The slick sounds that will haunt Marcus more effectively than any demon slows to a stop.

Marcus wants.

***

When Marcus wakes up on the side of the road in his decrepit truck, he gets himself off, fast and perfunctory. And when he has his own spend in his hand, he raises it to his mouth and imagines that it is a gift from Tomas.

Afterwards, he will throw up from the shame of his own desire, the thoughts of ripping into Tomas to get what he needs from him, the level of his own depravity in his moment of weakness. He will kneel in the grassy roadside and feel a cool breeze run across the back of his neck. The wind will tell him to find Tomas and Marcus will listen.

***

Forty two days after running away from Tomas, when Marcus has finally admitted he needs rest after his frantic search for anything to lead him to the woman in his second vision, the closest thing he has as a lead on Tomas. Edges have started to bleed together until the edges of the road bled into an indistinguishable blur with the trees he was speeding past.

He's sprawled in the bed of the truck, hat down over his eyes. It's not the most comfortable sleeping spot he's ever been in, with the hard ridges of the bed digging into his too thin body, but it certainly isn't the worst. He hadn't been still for longer than a second before he was in another vision.

He's in a bar he doesn't recognize but by the neon tube sign on the wall, he'd hazard a guess he's in a place called _The Roost_. There's a woman he recognizes on the brightly lit stage nestled in the corner of the establishment. It's the woman he told Tomas looks like the face of God. She's holding a microphone with one hand and reaching out to him with the other. Her eyes sear into him. He thinks if he looks away he might have to blink away blackness, like after looking into the sun.

The woman is pinning him down with her eyes and her outreached hand while she sings _A Miracle._ Patrons around Marcus dance wildly to a beat that he can't hear and certainly isn't what the face of God is singing. She's singing but it sounds like howling and a rock slide or the quiet tearing of a Bible page.

_He was a miracle_

_A miracle_

_I have created a miracle_

_And sent him down_

_For you to love_

The singing continues and Marcus can hear the old scratches on his own tape mix overlay with the raging hush of God's voice. It's a memory and a blessing. He has been wondering if he could look away and was doubting his ability. But he feels a cool pressure on his cheek and it turns him to look at the bar.

He sees Tomas.

A woman is sitting next to him - not Mouse - someone new, a stranger to Marcus and to Tomas by the looks of it. She leans in to brush her hand down Tomas' bicep and Marcus watches as Tomas gives a gentle smile before saying something that ends with her smiling at him before leaving him to go dance to the wild beat that still escapes Marcus' hearing.

Marcus moves towards Tomas. He just wants to get close enough to pretend he could touch if he wanted to. He could stand there and remember what Tomas smelled like before he woke up and started searching once again. He needs something to give him strength. He's learning that he needs Tomas.

Before Marcus could reach him, Tomas has a new admirer - a man, this time. The man leans in just like the woman before him and Marcus holds his breath waiting to see Tomas smile and turn him away. But he doesn't.

The man leans close and Tomas, with dark eyes, leans in to meet him halfway. They aren't close enough to kiss but they are close enough to show they share the inclination. Tomas smiles and it's sharp, engaging, a challenge for this new man, this stranger in Marcus' seat.

Marcus' hands shake. He wants to look away but the force that guided him to Tomas isn't letting him escape this moment. He is blessed and tormented. He feels damned by the ugly, writhing feelings inside him. But why would God bring him here and sing to him if all hope was lost? God wouldn't torment her servants like this, would not bring Marcus to suffer for no purpose. So Marcus shakes and listens to the unending divine rendition of _A Miracle._

_He was a miracle_

_A miracle_

_A miracle_

_A miracle_

Tomas reaches a hand up to the man's arm. A mimicry of the woman earlier. Marcus stands still and _feels._

God falls silent. It's deafening quiet until ' _this little light of mine'_ chimes out of Tomas' back pocket. Marcus had set that as Tomas' notification as a joke in the first couple weeks they had traveled together. Tomas had stopped smiling as much so Marcus dredged up whatever knowhow he had in his old, beaten body and figured out how to change it. It had taken an embarrassingly long time but it was worth it when Marcus texted Tomas one day when inside a convenience store, watching Tomas pump gas. Tomas' laugh was warmer than the sun that day. It should have clued Marcus in a long time ago to his destiny.

Tomas had reeled his hand back when he heard the notification, or felt it if the cacophony in the bar was too loud, Marcus wasn't sure. Either way, he murmured a thanks to God and watched with eyes no longer clouded in jealous pain the scene in front of him.

When Tomas pulls out his phone and reads the text, Marcus is struck with knowing what it says. It's from Mouse and contains a simple message: _news of m, close._

_"_ Marcus," Tomas exhales. He sounds lovely and Marcus wants to feel how Tomas' lips shape his name with his own. Marcus watches as Tomas nearly falls off his bar stool in his haste to leave.

Slowly, Marcus hears humming behind him, a raising crash of terrible noises that are as comforting and innocent as a sleeping newborn. The clamor reaches unbearable, perfect levels as he is turned around to look into the smiling face of God.

It's not just Marcus that has God's blessing now, he knows. What he will create with Tomas is blessed too.

***

When Marcus had woken up once more on the side of the road, aching to be next to Tomas, he immediately looked up _The Roost 'bar'_ and finds that not only does it exist but it’s only a town over. He takes a moment or three to pray and give his thanks as humbly and sincerely as he knows how. Then, he climbs into the front seat and goes to find Tomas.

He stops at _The Roost_ first and leaves a message with the bartender. Asks that they keep an eye out for anyone matching Tomas’ description and to tell Tomas if they see him that a ‘skinny Irish gent in black came by looking for him.’ He also asks the bartender to tell him about the motels in the area, farthest away from town center the better. Marcus knows Mouse’s style and is intimately aware of her brand of paranoia; it was his first, after all.

The bartender gives him the name of a few motels and some vague directions sketched onto a napkin. It’s more than he has had to go on than he’s had for weeks now, not counting the vision quests from God. He gives his thanks and walks out the same doors he watched Tomas leave through just a day before.

He gets lucky the first motel he stumbles across. When he eases his mammoth of a death machine into the desolate parking lot, he judges the motel as a reasonable choice for someone who is trying to hide from even the darkest shades of Hell. It is a truly concerning looking abode and Marcus tries to not be charmed. Marcus wastes a little time looking for a clerk before realizing that any clerk that isn’t an unrepentant bastard probably wouldn’t be giving out details of their customers to total strangers, no matter how charming. So Marcus picks the just-as-sketchy route of strolling around the motel exterior, looking for a sign.

Marcus turns a corner and sees Tomas step into a room. His heart almost stops. He has to take a breath and remind himself he has come too far to keel over now from old age and stress. He’s so close.

He’s also scared. He can’t predict what will happen when Tomas sees him again. Marcus has been guided by God and is so sure of his and Tomas’ status as – and he feels ridiculous even thinking it, even knowing it’s ultimate truth – soulmates. Tomas, as far as he knows, hasn’t had that. He’s had loneliness and abandonment and betrayal executed by Marcus.

Marcus is scared but he’s also the man ready to face the Devil on any given day of the week so he straightens himself up and begins to softly sing to himself as he walks towards the door containing Tomas.

_All my life I prayed for someone to love_

He wonders if this is how Tomas felt walking into St. Aquinas to find him. Listening to the song he couldn’t have known would eventually serve as a bridge between the strange man he had been led to find and God. When Tomas trusted in God and his visions, was he scared like Marcus? Or was he as brave as he is beautiful?

_I was blessed to find_

And Marcus was there. He’s there and he has to knock. He needs to knock for Tomas, and so he does.

A moment. A flicker of darkness though the eyehole.

The door opens. And Marcus suddenly has a face full of holy water.

He probably deserves that. In fact, he’s kind of glad Tomas is taking his own safety so seriously.

The next thing to hit Marcus is Tomas, who slams their bodies together in the closest hug Marcus has ever experienced. He feels like if he was the sort to keep track of the hugs he has received then this one would count for ten of the next best one in his miserable life.

Tomas smells like motel soap and greasy hair and Marcus is in love. He aches with it. Marcus allows a moment to feel swept up in it all before gathering himself enough to step forward and push Tomas back into the relative safety of the motel room. The door shuts behind them.

At the click of the door, Tomas pulls away just enough for Marcus to see his eyes full of tears. His face shows joy and bewilderment and maybe even the fear that he may be sleeping and this will all disappear in moments. Or perhaps Marcus is projecting his own fears. He digs his fingers harder into Tomas’ back, briefly, to ground himself.

Tomas doesn’t gasp but Marcus sees his lips part and feels the rush of air, taken from his lips into Tomas’. He wants to cry but Tomas has already taken that privilege and God willing, there will be time for his breakdown later. Right now, he wants to care for Tomas, to make up for all the pain he’s caused by his running away.

“Marcus,” Tomas speaks softly. So softly that the tears rolling down his cheeks to drip from his jaw, are just as loud when they splash into his shirt covered chest. “Are you really here?”

Marcus closes his eyes and connects his forehead with Tomas’. He has to lean down and he loves it; it feels almost like prostration and he yearns to supplicant himself even more for Tomas. “I’m here. I promise. I came back. I had to,” he stops to breath before the emotions could overwhelm him. Now isn’t the time. “I had to find you.” A promise.

Tomas whispers, a shout compared to his previous disbelieving tone, “Did you find what you were looking for?” His breath smells like mint. Marcus is in love.

“No. I was wrong. I left but I was looking for you.” Marcus lets out a quiet laugh. “I messed up enough that God herself had to intervene to bring me back.” A noise from Tomas, a question. “She gave me visions and they showed me you.”

“You left me, Marcus.” A poison needle spoken aloud. Marcus hears the tremor in Tomas’ voice. The tears that split between his cheeks and his throat.

“I’m sorry, love.” Marcus shifts his head up, so his lips rest on Tomas’ forehead. “I’m so sorry. I love you. And I’m never leaving you again, unless you will it to be so.” He presses his lips firmly to Tomas to try and imprint the words and his sincerity into skin.

Tomas shakes but Marcus knows he won’t fall apart. His Tomas is as strong as he is brave as he is beautiful. A small sob. Marcus remembers the burning letters and Tomas pleasuring himself. He burns. He wants to bring Tomas pleasure after all this time apart.

“I love you, Marcus.” _Don’t leave me_ , he doesn’t say. Marcus needs to hear it. “You broke my heart.” _Never leave me,_ he still doesn’t say. Marcus feels the tears well up. He can’t stop them. He parts his mouth to sob his pain, Tomas’ pain, God’s pain, into the soft creases of Tomas’ brow.

“I love you, Tomas. I love you. I love you.” Marcus can’t breathe from it. His lips skate down from Tomas’ brow, down his nose, until they drift apart to share mingled breath. Marcus has to be brave. He opens his eyes.

Tomas stares into his soul. “Never leave me again.” And Marcus sobs something that sounds like ‘never.’

They are on the brink. One forward sway and –

Mouse opens the hotel door and slams to a stop. Marcus and Tomas pull apart, not letting go of each other’s arms but no longer pressed fully together down their front.

“Marcus?” Mouse’s eyebrows are to her hair line. She slowly reaches into the front pocket of her coat and quick as a snake, flicks holy water across Marcus’ face.

“Yeah, Tomas already tried that. You taught him good, Mouse.” Marcus is feeling soft enough to share with Mouse.

She looks between them and at Tomas’ streaked and flushed face. “You leaving again Marcus or are you staying?”

“Reckon you both will be sick of my company soon enough but you’ll find I’m hard to get rid of.” He smiles but he imagines it looks rather wretched. But it seems to do the trick.

“Well, in that case, good night, I’m getting my own room. See you for lunch tomorrow, bye.” And she’s gone.

The quiet falls over them again.

“Tomas.” A question.

“Yes.”

So Marcus pulls Tomas closer, _finally, thank you God,_ and starts to feast. 


End file.
